After Being Certified by the Immortal Lord on the Path of Ruthlessness - Chapter 68

Dragged all the way to the mountaintop, Ling Lan’s trousers were torn through at the knees, exposing raw flesh scraped bloody and smeared with dirt and gravel.

 

The winding trail of blood staining the dark soil went almost unnoticed.

 

The serpent’s tail flung her toward the cave entrance before withdrawing.

 

Freed from its grip, Ling Lan’s legs buckled, unable to support her weight. Wan Yin Sword shot toward the retreating tail, only to be deflected, landing upright beside her.

 

“Why have you trespassed on Serpent Mountain?”

 

A voice echoed from the cave’s depths as Ling Lan hovered on the edge of consciousness from the pain.

 

Gritting her teeth, she forced out the words, “I’ve come to make a trade.”

 

“A trade? With what? That sword at your side?”

 

Clutching the sword, she struggled to rise. “With my immortal bone.”

 

Silence fell over the cave.

 

Black smoke coiled around the jagged mountain peaks. Ling Lan remained alert, her eyes sweeping every shadow.

 

After a long pause, a faint rustling echoed before her.

 

Sword in hand, she raised it cautiously.

 

The surrounding smoke twisted into a small vortex, swirling up dark mud that stung her eyes.

 

Squinting against the grit, she gripped her sword tighter, watching the vortex warily.

 

When the smoke finally parted, a woman stepped from the mist.

 

Ling Lan’s gaze fixed on her—pitch-black pupils stark against deathly pale skin, long hair bound with a cluster of black tail feathers.

 

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll just take it by force?” Wuli’s voice was calm, studying the girl before her—torn trousers, bloodied legs, wounds cruelly carved into her flesh.

 

Pale but resolute, Ling Lan straightened her back. “I came alone because I’m prepared to destroy us both. If you try to take it, I’ll end my life first. When I die, my true form will return and the immortal bone will vanish.”

Her voice was cold. Wan Yin Sword pressed against her waist, ready to pierce her heart at her command.

 

Seeing her unwavering resolve, Wuli frowned. “You’re a once-in-a-millennium sword cultivator, holding an immortal bone that the righteous path would kill for and you would truly give it up?”

 

“Not everyone prioritizes the greater good.” Ling Lan met her gaze firmly. “I care only for my personal love, and I guard only that.”

 

Wuli chuckled coldly, intrigued. “Everyone strives to be a beacon of righteousness. Even the current empress slew her beloved to seize power. You are unusual.”

 

Darkness edged Ling Lan’s vision, and the pain in her knees made standing nearly impossible. Yet, leaning on her sword, she declared, “I told you, righteousness and sword arts are fleeting to me. The immortal bone others covet is no more to me than cabbage in the market.”

 

“In my heart, the adoration of thousands isn’t worth a single smile from her.” Impatience crept into her voice. “Do we trade or not?”

 

“Of course we trade!” Wuli answered without hesitation. “But what do you want in return?”

 

Ling Lan’s voice deepened, unwavering. “Your forbidden art, to resurrect my beloved.”

“Forbidden art?” Wuli studied her sword clutched in one hand, pouch in the other, enduring immense pain. Combined with her words, she appeared a lovesick fool.

 

A mocking smile curved Wuli’s lips. “Fine. Wait here.”

 

At that, the heavy stone pressing on Ling Lan’s heart finally lifted. Relief coursed through her, brief and fleeting.

 

But in that very moment, the black mist thickened before her eyes, swallowing the mountaintop in impenetrable darkness.

 

Wuli intensified the surrounding smoke, shrouding the world in shadow. Casually, she picked up two stones, clenched them tightly, and called out to the disoriented figure in the fog, “I’ll fetch the Rebirth Pill and the seed for you.”

 

Blind and relying only on sound, Ling Lan obediently replied, “Alright.”

 

Wuli gripped the stones firmly, waving her hand to transform them into two small vials. Feigning a stumble, she emerged from the cave, pacing deliberately before speaking.

 

“One is the seed capable of shaping all things,” she said, holding up the first vial. “The other is the Rebirth Pill. Crush the pill and pour it over the seed, and you will bring forth the rebirth of your beloved.”

 

Ling Lan, gauging the direction, carefully cupped her hands and extended her palms. “Alright.”

As the pill and seed dropped into her hands, Ling Lan felt the coldness of the seed and asked in confusion, “Why do I not sense the spiritual essence of this seed?”

 

“Nonsense, how can you sense it when it hasn’t even been planted?” Wuli retorted impatiently. “I’ve given you the seed. Now, my immortal bone.”

 

Ling Lan hummed in acknowledgment, carefully clutching the seed as she turned around. “The mountain mist is too thick; I cannot see the way. You’ll have to do it yourself.”

 

Wuli stared in slight astonishment as the other actually turned her back without a hint of defense.

 

Hah, these foolish righteous cultivators.

 

“Fine, I’ll release more smoke to numb your senses,” Wuli said without hesitation, her sharp claws piercing through the fabric and sinking into flesh.

 

Ling Lan gritted her teeth, listening to the sound of her skin and flesh being torn open, the bird-like claws tapping and inspecting her bones.

 

The surrounding black smoke clouded her mind and dulled her senses, yet the excruciating pain refused to let her sink into oblivion.

 

She remained acutely aware, enduring the agony of having her bones exercised.

 

Wuli observed the opened back, her sharp claws tracing the white, stark spine.

 

The torn flesh curled outward, delicate blood vessels and sinews entwining the vertebrae, blood streaming down with every movement of the claws.

 

Ling Lan’s vision plunged into utter darkness, her ears filled with a persistent ringing.

 

She tightly gripped the medicine vial and seed, her lips bitten through, blood seeping between her teeth.

 

Mianhao, Mianhao.

 

On the verge of fainting, Ling Lan repeatedly chanted Jiang Mianhao’s name in her heart.

 

Hold on, Ling Lan. If you die, you can never save Mianhao.

 

Just as her consciousness began to fade.

 

The sharp claws finally stilled, and Ling Lan breathed a sigh of relief.

 

In the next moment, a heart-wrenching pain surged through her entire body.

 

The third vertebra was snapped clean off. In the silence, the sound of tendons tearing and bones separating from flesh was unmistakable.

 

Ling Lan’s vision succumbed to prolonged darkness, unsure whether it was blood or sweat dripping incessantly from her body.

 

Just as the pain threatened to overwhelm her into unconsciousness, the claws behind her withdrew.

 

“Done,” Wuli said, weighing the bone in her hand—a small, porcelain-white piece glowing softly in her palm.

 

Ling Lan felt as though she had died and come back to life. The blood trapped in her chest burst past her teeth, gushing out.

 

Her body lost all support, her legs giving way as she collapsed to her knees, her already scraped knees grinding into the gravel.

 

It hurt so much.

 

Orchid’s consciousness was scattered, with so many places hurting that she couldn’t distinguish which pain was more severe for a moment.

 

Wuli, holding the extracted bone, looked at the person kneeling before her and suddenly felt a twinge of reluctance.

 

This person before her had been carved to the bone yet managed to endure without uttering a single cry.

 

“Does it matter that much?” Even Wuli, who usually avoided meddling in others’ affairs, couldn’t help but feel compassion.

 

Recalling the potion and seeds she had given, Wuli sighed.

 

With a wave of her hand, she extracted the skeleton of a dead snake nearby and placed it where the third missing vertebra should be, barely enabling the person to stand and walk in the future.

 

Feeling the fine, needle-like pricks in her back, Orchid was already numb to the pain, unable to even sense the long needle behind her stitching her flesh together.

 

“Go,” Wuli waved her hand, turning her eyes away, unable to bear looking any longer.

 

Orchid, her breath as faint as a thread, swallowed the blood in her mouth. “Th… thank you…”

 

Her stitched-up back arched into a winding scar, with torn flesh and skin pieced together in a haphazard manner.

 

Still, it was better than leaving it exposed.

 

Wuli heard the thanks, stiffened, frowned, and with a wave of her hand, tossed the person down the mountain.

 

The immortal bone in her hand was as smooth as jade, radiant and dazzling.

 

“What a fool,” Wuli suppressed the rising pity and turned back to her cave.

 

Orchid, thrown down the mountain, still saw nothing but darkness. Collapsed at the foot of the hill, her breath gradually weakened.

 

“Sleep well,” Orchid pressed the seed in her palm to her lips and whispered, “We we’re going home.”

 

Black mist still lingered around, but a beam of light gradually brightened in Orchid’s heart.

 

Pale, cold smoke drifted through the hall.

 

The person seated in the hall was somewhat irritable.

 

Ye Qingge stared at the door, then withdrew her gaze to the memorials. But before half a second had passed, she fiercely threw the scroll in her hand.

 

“Master, what’s wrong?” Shuanghan picked up the scroll and slowly placed it back on the desk. “Did something in the memorial upset you? Why not take a break?”

Though meant as a well-intentioned consolation, her words inadvertently touched a nerve.

 

“What did you say?” Ye Qingge coldly stared at the person before her. Though the face and tone were entirely different, Ye Qingge’s mind once again conjured that figure in emerald green. The young girl who had smiled brightly under the lamplight, playfully lying in her arms, begging her to rest.

 

Hearing the anger in her tone, Shuanghan was taken aback and dropped to her knees. “Master, I said you shouldn’t overwork yourself. Please, take a break.”

 

…Take a break.

 

Lu Jiu! You’re staying up late reading memorials again! Do you even care about your health?!

 

Take a break, Lu Jiu~

 

Suddenly, familiar admonitions echoed in her ears…

 

Ye Qingge was momentarily dazed, realizing it was a nightmare, and clenched her little finger.

 

The sound of bone cracking echoed, and pain surged through her body.

 

Ye Qingge exhaled slowly, shaking off the remnants of her nightmare. She swallowed and said, “Do not advise me to rest again.”

 

“Yes, Master.” Shuanghan looked up at the Empress, her once-cold face now deathly pale, the bright red dot between her brows lending her a haunting, almost hypnotic beauty.

 

Ye Qingge steadied her mind. When she opened her eyes again, her golden pupils were calm. “Why hasn’t that herb arrived yet?”

 

“I will go hasten them.” Shuanghan rose to leave, but unexpectedly collided with someone entering the hall.

 

The guard staggered back several steps from the impact, instinctively shielding the potted plant in his arms.

 

Without daring to look up at the Empress, he fell to his knees, legs trembling. “Your Majesty, forgive me! This humble servant is late.”

 

Ye Qingge reclined in her chair, her gaze fixed on the plant he clutched against his chest.

 

The wrapping around the pot left only the tip of a jade-green leaf visible, its details obscured.

 

At the sight of that familiar shade of green, Ye Qingge’s breath caught sharply.

She had lost the courage to take a closer look.